


a little nostalgic

by robottophobic



Category: Senyuu.
Genre: M/M, alba making first moves is always good, gratuitous use of itallics, have i mentioned i love visualba, its only kinda implied its not that shippy sorry, only sorta rosal and more alros if you're keeping score of that kinda thing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-08
Updated: 2016-08-08
Packaged: 2018-08-07 11:32:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7713367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/robottophobic/pseuds/robottophobic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>a tumblr prompt drabble based on the song ten-faced. kind of short and the ending is open-ended.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a little nostalgic

**Author's Note:**

> i made an account here just to share this. no clue if it's even good enough or not, but i figure the world should see it and not the rp blog circle. might be ooc because writing ross is Not easy

Alba himself had a habit of speaking with the voice of the millions whose hearts he had united, but it hadn’t ever been anything like _this_. There was just the _one_ at first and Ross hadn’t even noticed _anything_ wrong, when the hero seemed _frustrated_ , even, at something–though Ross _couldn’t tell_ , really–the way he’d pull again at his “tail”, the frayed red fabric that always trailed behind him. 

Come to think of it, _he hadn’t worn that black shirt in a long time_ , had he? He hadn’t kept his hair in quite a mess in a really long time, had he? Ross appreciated the return to the aesthetics of two years ago but there was something _wrong_ with it and he couldn’t quite place it. With some begrudging acceptance, though, he decides not to question it. The Red Fox did what he wanted–and with his newfound ascension to _True Hero_ , Ross really couldn’t stop him. 

But the way he turned his head and went back to reading essays seemed to irritate the hero greatly, another thing Ross didn’t understand. It’s not like he wasn’t _attentive_ –this was the manner he’d always behaved in, so what was Alba’s problem? Without further questioning, though, he rolls his eyes and shakes his head. Perhaps younger people got moody easily. 

##  **….**

The second outfit change was a _little_ more jarring. Sure, it was nothing new, but the manner in which he brought it up again, so _suddenly,_ as if it was anything like him. The ripped black cape, the fringed hair, the fierce and bright red left eye. It was a _powerful_ look, a violent one, and when Ross looked at him he couldn’t feel the touch of gentleness but rather the strength it put off, and he _breathed in_ , looking Alba over once, twice, before finally flicking his forehead. 

The hero recoiled immediately. “OUcH— _HEY_!! What’s that for?!” 

He seemed surprised. Against himself, Ross decided that the hero didn’t have any right to be. With his voice level, he says plainly: “..What are you doing, wearing something like that now. _Stupid hero_.” 

There was a _horrific_ flash of realization in Alba’s eyes and Ross almost felt bad, yet still managed to pull his eyes away, and sigh. Nothing was right when the hero was acting like this. Alba drew his entire form up, pulling bunches of his cape from where it nearly touched the ground, and headed off, back the way he came…with his head held slightly lower. 

##  **….**

The _third_ time, it wasn’t so much a _surprise_ as it was a curiosity. And by that, Ross processed the fourth change in Alba’s clothing in those few months to be something strange and horrible, some _awful_ mess of anachronism, some armor and plating that fit him and fit well but with the way he’d filled out in the three or for years since then it didn’t look _right_. This was something only the _Hero #45_ in the start of his journey would wear, Ross mused, and he frowned to himself, _staring_ , not at all processing the words his companion had been saying. 

However, Alba’s voice held to it now a certain instability, one it hadn’t had in years, and there was a youthful light in his eyes. _Something wasn’t right about this_ , definitely not. Ross narrowed his eyes, pushing the boy’s head away. 

“ _Hero_. You’re too old to be looking like that. What’s gotten into you?”  


But that seemed to be something Alba _wanted_ to hear, and he did nothing but shake his head, brushing past the taller man. 

##  **….**

The fourth time and the fifth time, Ross couldn’t even bring himself to react. A familiar outfit with a red fox displayed proudly on the shirt and the tail that wrapped proudly around his belt some five or six times…the _confidence_ that beamed from every word Alba said. This was recent, and Ross figured that Alba would stay like that, he couldn’t contain his surprise and the sarcasm that always dripped from every word he said. Yet it was this that got that same reaction that Alba always seemed to have, where he went away in deep thought, and came back days later with an old and strange outfit and mentality. _What was with that?_

The _fifth_ time, it’s another recent outfit, a soft ensemble striped in bold black and white and a red shirt to go over it. The scarf was there again, tied securely around his arm as if it would float away. Ross decided he appreciated it but didn’t know why Alba would choose to wear _a prison uniform_ around everywhere–specifically, _that one_ , from the difficult times in the caves and the sadistic tutoring lessons. It boggled his mind.  

##  **….**

_Ross decided he couldn’t deal with this_. Outfits and outfits later and Alba still seemed unhappy, was still acting strange. Yet Ross couldn’t blame himself for his own reactions, it was weird seeing the hero having changed his hair to black, or to red, but the weirdest had to be the _pink haired hero_ that somehow managed to wear _less_ clothing than if he would’ve just been naked. This was driving him _completely nuts_. And it wasn’t so much that as it was making him paranoid, too, what sort of identity crisis might the hero be having? If it was Ross’s fault, he wanted to know, because it was with his words that Alba would depart and think for a long time for what he’d do next. He couldn’t help but frown.  

… _Pink hair_. What was with _that_ drastic measure? **_Tch._**

##  **….**

“Hero.”  


Thankfully, his appearance now was decidedly normal, but Ross flinched when he noticed the varying outfits laid out over Alba’s bed. The hero raised his head from his research essays scattered around his desk and turned, his gaze calculative but fond, but apologetic. Ross felt something in his chest _give_ and he instead leaned on the doorway for support. 

“…Yeah? What’s wrong?”  


_Ross decided he didn’t know how to answer that question._ Instead of any real answer, he gestures widely with his arm to the mess Alba had made of shirts and scarf on his bed. “…That.” 

“…oh. _That_.” There was a slight edge to Alba’s words, a certain bitterness that Ross didn’t quite think possible. “…just an _experiment_ , I suppose.”  


“That doesn’t tell me anything. What kind of experiment has you bringing up old times and coloring your hair weird flashy things?” _ ~~Pinkpinkpinkpinkpink~~_ it really wouldn’t leave his mind and he was sick to _death_ of the emotion such a drastic change in his ( _his?????_ ) hero made him feel.  


Alba drew back from the table, leaning the edge of his pencil eraser into his mouth. There was some quiet contemplation on his face, an emotion of _sorrow_ as well, and Ross couldn’t place the implications of something like that, such a restricted expression. It really put him more on edge, if such a thing were currently possible. After a long silence, Alba finally says, “I’m not sure. I’m still thinking about it.” 

_He wanted to say more._ That was plain as day. Ross slowly nodded, rolling his hand gently in the air–to say, _keep talking_ , without interrupting him. And it was at this that Alba’s face _flushed_ that off-red color, something that rose from his cheeks to his ears, and it was the _one_ enemy Alba couldn’t seem to defeat, as he rubbed furiously at his own face. 

Ross was about to interject, but in a _panic_ with some _forced_ confidence, some fake sureness, all rolled up into its own weird proposition Alba says(and the words stumble from his mouth, _oh do they trip_ ), 

“I was _thinking_ –wh-what kind of _me_ does R-Ross like?!”  



End file.
